


Rock-Hard (and Squishy-Soft)

by cuddlesome



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Belly Kink, Circus Town | Circhester (Pokemon), Gender-neutral Reader, Groping, Hotel Sex, Muscles, Nipple Play, Other, POV Second Person, Penetrative Sex, Praise Kink, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28000200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlesome/pseuds/cuddlesome
Summary: Pity kissing Gordie after you beat his gym turns into a lot more.
Relationships: Makuwa | Gordie/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 46





	Rock-Hard (and Squishy-Soft)

**Author's Note:**

> Embarrassed to admit a dream inspired this. Don't @ me.
> 
> Since Circhester is based on Bath I have a [West Country English accent](https://youtu.be/ahznvtDunEw) in mind for Gordie's accent though I'm sadly lacking in enough knowledge about the dialect to have his vocabulary/phraseology on-point. It's very "Hollywood pirate-y" for those understandably too impatient to watch the video because you want to read the fic, lmao.

Gordie is a sore loser. It's public knowledge displayed on his league card for everyone to see. He appears to take the loss gracefully but you can see that his smile doesn't reach his eyes. Not to mention that same smile is practically a sneer by the time he leaves the pitch. He looks sad and not a little angry. It seems more directed at himself than you, though. 

It’s something of an apology for defeating him when you corner him in the locker room and kiss him. The gesture is impulsive and quick and leaves him with his lips parted in surprise.

“I just hated seeing you upset," you say. "I’m sorry.”

And you should probably just leave it at that because you’re already being odd. He could easily go to the league and have you kicked out of the challenge for sexual harassment.

But luckily for you he looks more than interested, eyes glinting from behind his sunglasses. His expression turns from surprise to something pleased and maybe a little smug. 

“You shouldn’t be sorry. It was a great battle.” He licks his lips and your heart stutters. “It's sweet that you wanted to comfort me, though. I reckon I'm feeling better already.”

He takes a step toward you and more out of nerves than anything else you take one back and on and on until your back is up against the chilly lockers.

Gordie adjusts a cufflink as he looks you over. “Just how sorry are you?”

“Very.”

He puts one hand on the locker beside your head. The thin metal creaks as he leans forward and you imagine you could see his meaty bicep flexing if not for the layers of clothes in the way. 

His wide chest and belly brush you when you’re nose to nose. He’s wearing far too much cologne. The brand he uses probably costs more than every bit of camping equipment you own. You wonder if it’s in an attempt to cover up how sweaty the hot stadium lights made him. The artificial and natural scents come together in a thick musk.

“Go on, then. Keep apologising. Give us another.” He taps his lips with the ringed index finger on his free hand.

So you kiss him again. It becomes clear very quickly you're not getting away with a small peck this time.

By some miracle, he manages to not let his sunglasses get in the way. He's perfected the art of tilting his head just so to keep you from imprinting your cheeks into the lenses and you don't end up ever fearing having one of the sharp ends of the frames jab you. His over-long side bangs tickle your cheek—seems he hasn't come up with a solution for that yet—but you don't mind. You're too distracted by his mouth. 

His lips are softer than they have any right to be living somewhere so bitterly cold, but you suppose the closeness of the ocean helps with humidity. His tongue is hot and slick between your teeth. You rub your thighs together imagining his mouth there. 

He’s a needy, demanding, sloppy kisser. It sends your sense of balance into death spirals. You reach up to steady yourself and get a handful of belly instead of his hip like you intended. He huffs a laugh through his nose. As casually as you can, you transfer your hand to his hip and give that a squeeze.

"No need to be shy if that's what you like," he chuckles.

"I don't know what you mean."

He separates from you and you think you see him roll his eyes, but it could just be a trick of the dim fluorescent light against his sunglasses. Then he takes your hand in his, guides it behind him, and has you grab one of his buttocks instead. You blush deeply.

He’s got to be proud of that bum of his. He’d had it facing you the whole battle, after all. You squeeze it, pleased to find that the barrier of clothes don't diminish the feeling of its full, jiggly plumpness. Biggest muscle in the human body, indeed. Then his saliva-slicked lips are on yours again and you effectively stop thinking for the next few minutes as he devours you.

"How're you getting on?" He pauses from kissing your mouth to kiss your neck, trailing his teeth and tongue over your pulse. "You like this? You want more?"

"Could you—would you—?" Unwilling to articulate it, you reach out and stroke his big thigh with your free hand, not quite daring to touch the erection bulging in his shorts. 

He pulls back a little, head canted so his hair falls over his left eye more than usual.

"You want my cock? Dunno, a lot of my fans who are way better at snogging would just love to be in your position..." He says it all with a serious expression but he breaks character with a snicker before you can get too crestfallen. "Just messing with you. Of course I'll give you what you want. But not here."

Circhester's perma-winter state does nothing to cool the heat in your belly. You follow Gordie at some distance after being warned about what a mess it will be if the press sees you with him. You miss his heat and cuddle back up to him as soon as you're back inside.

They keep a room open for him at the Hotel Ionia. He'd tucked the obvious sign of his arousal beneath his waistband and buttoned his jacket closed to further disguise it. The blush coloring his cheeks could be easily explained away by the cold outside. He speaks to the staff at the front desk, laughing with ease that has to be practiced. You aren't quite as confident, all but hiding behind him so that they won't see how worked up you are. Gordie glances over his shoulder at you and smiles in lazy reassurance, holding the key card that he'd just been handed between two fingers.

He pulls open the door to the room open with a flourish a few minutes later.

Luxury suite. Of course.

Unsure of yourself, you flick on the lights and start to step inside. He grabs you from behind and picks you up with ease that’s startling. Just when you're getting used to the sensation of being held he deposits you on the bed. The pillows and duvet and mattress are plump and silky but they can’t quite compare to the feeling of Gordie’s body on top of you moments later.

He kisses you some more and smooths a broad hand over your shoulder and down your chest. You would have thought he'd be done with foreplay after the stint of it in the locker room, but you suppose it'll be good for both of you to get warmed up again, literally and figuratively. His thick, powerful limbs and heavy middle keep you right where he wants you.

After some time he sits up and adjusts his cock in his shorts. He takes his suit jacket off with a series of quick yanks, and tosses it on top of a nearby chair behind him. Then he tosses his sunglasses after it. The lenses spiral through the air and land neatly on top of the jacket. Before you can be too impressed at that, he leans back down and kisses you again. You pull at the back of his long-sleeved jersey, nonsensically trying to get it off of him while you're connected at the mouth. 

"So impatient," Gordie tsks, nipping your lower lip, then sits up again and grins at you. "Want to see something fun?"

Before you can answer, Gordie seizes either side of the v-neck on his jersey in each of his hands. He tugs hard at both sides with a sharp jerk and is rewarded with a harsh tearing noise. He grabs the fabric at the new rip at his chest and pulls again. The rock type symbol in the center is torn raggedly in half, which just feels like bad luck. Soon enough it's torn from neck to hem. He pulls the ruined fabric aside to expose his dusky, berry-pink nipples and pale belly. Without the confines of his jersey keeping it restrained the latter, silvery with stretch marks and hair, sags over the waistband of his shorts.

You gawk. He hadn't just ruined his uniform for the sake of showing off, had he?

"Don't look so worried, I've got loads of 'em." He pulls the ruined shirt the rest of the way off of himself and tosses it to the floor. "Now, come on, I know I'm no Milo, but I deserve some commendation for that." 

Without his eyes covered by the reflective blue lenses, you can see just how vulnerable they are. It's entirely possible all of that posturing is just to cover up how woefully insecure he is. In fact you're sure that's the case. He's practically begging you for you to compliment him on that macho nonsense he just pulled. 

What else is there for you to do but exactly what he wants?

You reach up to stroke one of his forearms, then the upper. There's a thick layer of warm, plush fat and bulky, rock-hard muscle underneath.

"Wow, you're so strong," you flatter as you give his bicep a squeeze.

He tosses his hair out of his face and grins with his eyes squinched shut in glee. "Thanks, I know." 

"And handsome, too."

He's just eating it up. His grin gets even bigger.

You shift your grip from his arm to the breast beside it. His eyes snap open and he bites his lip.

Worrying that you'd overstepped your bounds, you ask him, "Is this okay?"

"It's fine. It's alright." He shudders a little. "I'm just, ah... sensitive. There."

On his chest? On his plump, full moobs? Somehow you're not surprised. You idly wonder if his mum is the same way—if her chest is just as responsive to touch—before putting it out of your mind. He'd probably throw you out if he knew you were thinking of her for even a second.

His nipples were already firm and tight thanks to Circhesterian weather, making it a simple matter to pinch one between forefinger and thumb and pull. Gordie huffs through his nose, taking more of his lower lip between his teeth. His fingers curl into the heavy duvet.

He's had you squirming all this time. A little payback is more than fair. 

You put your other hand on the other side of his chest. Pinching and flicking his nipples and squeezing his chest has him let out a tiny whine. Gordie's chubby cheeks blush dark. He covers his face with one hand as if to hide it but he can't resist peeking down at where you're touching him between his fingers.

Who knew after all that confidence he had this side to him?

Even with him still on top of you, you're starting to feel a little more in control. His hips twitch hard when you take one hand off of his chest in favor of putting it at the apex of his thighs. You feel brave enough to do it now. Your swallow as you feel his cock, swollen and pulsing with heat that you feel even through the fabric. His abandoned pec is reclaimed by your mouth. It's plush and too big to fit the whole thing in. He cries out, voice cracking, then covers his mouth with the hand he'd been using to shield his eyes. His face looks warmer than ever. Having your hands and mouth occupied with three different tasks makes for messy, uncoordinated stimulation, but it's more than enough to have his chest and belly heaving against you with labored breaths.

You finally let up and strip out of most of your clothes—you feel too hot to keep them on. Or, rather, Gordie takes them off of you after a request not to rip them (hot as the idea is, you'd spent nearly all of your battle reward money on this outfit). His jewelry is all temperate thanks to his body heat. The expectation of cold gold against you when his necklace brushes against your neck doesn't come, nor does his ring prickle with cold when he runs it down your naked hip. The blush coloring his face has only faded somewhat, but he smiles with some of the former arrogance around the edges as he touches you. 

After it brushes you, he removes his necklace, which is probably a good call. It wouldn't do to get smacked in the face with the heavy pendant. Then he finally gets off of you and takes off the last of his clothes. You're confronted with the sight of his cock, thick and twitching and shiny with pre. 

He leans heavily on you again so that he can reach the bedside drawer. His cock and bollocks end up sandwiched between your middles, dangerously close to your own groin. Your lungs strain as he all but crushes you. With a triumphant noise, he extracts condoms and lube.

Pushing his cock inside of you after he's prepared you both seems to restore his bravado. You're so relaxed he doesn't have any trouble at all bottoming out.

He leans close and whispers, "Bet you thought you'd just blow through here on your gym challenge, didn't you? Just another badge. You didn't count on me."

He sets a beastly pace when he starts thrusting his hips. The hotel’s heater is cranked up to combat the cold outside. His skin flushes ever darker shades of pink and he starts to sweat with the effort of fucking you.

His hair gets progressively messier as time goes on, falling out of its elaborate style. He seems conscious of it, continually raking his fingers through the loose strands and pushing them back until you grab his hand and put it to your chest to stop the nervous tic. He tilts his head, rockruffish, then chuckles and refocuses.

It’s not a pokémon battle. Still, he seems determined to outlast you, to 'win,' when it comes to coming first. There are times when you’re decently sure he would have come if he hadn’t slowed down and pressed his face to your neck as if to compose himself. When he lifts his head up again there’s always a renewed fire in his eyes.

You throw his strategy off by grabbing handfuls of his soft chest and pinching his nipples again. It's super effective. His eyes roll back and he swallows thickly as you pull on them.

"Come on, love, that's not fair," he groans, pawing weakly at your wrists.

Your legs ache with the effort of keeping them spread to make room for his body. It's more than worth it in that moment to see him burning with mortification even with his cock buried inside of you.

You’re delighted to discover his Circhester accent gets thicker and huskier as time goes on. Almost like he’d been dialing it back for the camera at the gym. It gets to be a little difficult to understand for to you, acquainted mostly with the southern reaches of Galar. He's almost unintelligible towards the end. Moans and cries of pleasure are universal, though, so you get that much as he comes with a hard shudder and hugs you tight to his bulk. In a way, you've won all over again.


End file.
